


Ripples and Currents of Memory

by DarkMK



Category: Fae Tales - not_poignant, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Flashbacks, M/M, Mentions of trauma and abuse, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:18:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMK/pseuds/DarkMK
Summary: Six months of solitary imprisonment in a Seelie dungeon, and yet Augus somehow managed to emerge far more mentally stable than when he went in. What happened in those months? What did it take to recover from such an imbalance?





	Ripples and Currents of Memory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [not_poignant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Game Theory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/915296) by [not_poignant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant). 



> This little interlude covers the time between Augus' defeat in [Into Shadows We Fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/766729), and the beginning of [Game Theory](http://archiveofourown.org/works/915296), and uses the original canon of those stories. Ideally, I would have liked to have used the Nightingale as the villain, instead of the Nightmare King, to completely match with the current Fae Tales canon, but unfortunately I do not know exactly how things would change from one backstory to the other, and felt it was better to remain as close to posted canon as possible.
> 
> Perhaps one day when (and if) not_poignant updates Game Theory to match the new canon, I will also rewrite a version to correspond. 
> 
> Until then, I hope that you enjoy my interpretation of Augus' time during those six months.

When he first awakes, it is with confusion. Then fear. He doesn't know where he is.

But it is underground. And it is dark.

Which brings a rush of haunting memories that he would so much rather forget.

There is pain in all his limbs; his entire body aches. He remembers golden eyes, glowing fiercely. He remembers living shadows, pressing into and under his skin, so, _so_ eager to take him over...

Panic begins to build in his chest, nausea in his throat. Only long practice keeps him from vocalizing aloud. His eyes dart around the space, certain that the Nightmare King is waiting for him to awaken, waiting to begin his tortures anew. No matter how he tries to quell the fears, the King of Shadows always knows, _always knows_ , and is always ready to reach into the core of him and rip them from his very soul...

 

But after a time (he doesn't know how long), he realizes that the Nightmare King has not come. The strangeness of that fact pulls him away from the panic. If there is one thing that could be depended upon, it is the constancy of the Nightmare King's presence.

Other memories surface. Ash. Gulvi. Gwyn ap Nudd. An underground cavern. The frost spirit.

Now he remembers. They had all conspired together to demote him. He never would have thought such a thing could be possible, Unseelie and Seelie working together. _Ash_ working against him.

The golden eyes were not from the Nightmare King, but from the vessel that used to house him. Though the fear they inspired was still strong, it lacked the true potency of that which the Nightmare King utilized.

He can acknowledge that, now.

They had stripped him of his kingship, taken his power. He shivers. The demotion to underfae is the last thing he truly remembers before awakening here. Where is here? He doesn't have time to dwell on it.

He is defenseless, now. He has no power to protect himself. They had said that the Nightmare King was defeated, but he knows better. Even Augus gaining the power of Unseelie Kingship and stripping the shadows from him hadn't been enough to prevent his return.

It is only a matter of time before he comes back. Before he finds Augus _again_.

Augus shivers once more. He huddles in a corner, next to a long tree root, and tries not to let the fear overpower him.

* * *

At some point, he must have slept. Not a full sleep, but just a doze. Just enough to take the edge off without succumbing to the endless nightmares that plague him. He blinks himself awake. For the first time, he is able to look around and take true stock of his surroundings.

As before, he sees that he is underground. A single room, empty except for him. The walls, floor, and ceiling are all made of rock and earth, densely packed. But unlike the deadened depths in which the Nightmare King used to keep him imprisoned, this is a rich, _growing_ earth. He can smell the scents of it, and he lets them wash over him, submersing himself in the sensations. The most prevalent of the smells is that of oak, which matches the tree root that extends from the wall next to him.

He runs his fingers over the bark, feeling the rough texture, the tiny crevesses. It is something simple and solid that he can focus on, something grounded in reality. He moves his hand to the wall, pressing against it, before scraping his fingers lightly at the surface. There is a strange, almost buzzing sensation that he can feel from it. He finds the strength to stand and follows the wall around, keeping his hand on it, to the single opening on the far side of the room. But when he reaches it, his hand cannot pass through the seemingly clear passage. There is an invisible barrier that blocks it, keeping him trapped. Tilting his head, he can see part of a corridor that extends to the left for some distance. He can just make out other rooms, similar to his own, but they appear empty.

Now he knows where he is. The Court Dungeons. Specifically, the Seelie Court. He can tell by the uncomfortable pressure scraping in his chest. He'd attributed it to the general pain of his demotion, but now he recognises the energy for what it is. An ever-present reminder that _'he doesn't belong here.'_

He isn't sure that he belongs anywhere, anymore.

He doesn't want to think about this now. He returns to his spot on the floor, somehow already exhausted despite the brevity of his effort, and curls up by the tree root, letting his mind go blissfully blank.

* * *

But he cannot keep his mind blank forever. As the days pass, and there are no visitors, nothing happening, his mind needs something to focus on.

He wonders if he has been left to slowly starve and waste away. He doesn't know how long he had been here, unconscious, before awakening the first time. But his drop to underfae has already left him weak, and thirsty. He has heard it said that it would take near three hundred years for a waterhorse to die of dehydration. He wonders if that is true. He wonders how long he would last. He swallows once around a dry mouth, and tries to redirect his mind elsewhere.

Inevitably, it drifts to his defeat. He cannot bear to think on the actual moment itself for very long, though – instead, he casts his mind slightly further back, wondering what he should have done differently to avoid the situation.

He shouldn't have been in that cave to begin with...why had he been there? The frost spirit had been the temptation to lure him out, he can see that, but...why had he allowed himself to fall for it?

His motivations from the past several months seem muddled. He can remember his actions, but not his reasons for why they seemed good to him.

It had all seemed so perfect at first: his sudden ascension to King, an Inner Court composed of some of the strongest and darkest of fae, the power to exert _his_ will against the Nightmare King and strip him down to a bare remnant of his former self...

He'd finally had control of everything that had ever been used against him.

It had felt _so good_.

And it hadn't been enough. He'd needed _more_. More control. More....something. He'd started taking over lakes and waterways, forcing out those who had lived in them for eons, forcing them to do his bidding with an iron domination.

Everything had been working perfectly.

And then...

 _He'd_ come back.

A simple plan gone awry. (Was that how it began?) At the height of a battle, in the _mundane_ world, no less. The shadows were meant to take the frost spirit, one who could be easily compelled, and had a power that would be quite enjoyable to wield.

But instead...the shadows had returned to their former vessel.

And suddenly...the Unseelie Court was no longer a refuge. Not with _him_ in it. His Inner Court had been defeated and dispersed, and even Ash, though he hadn't left the Court itself, had been shut out and stopped interacting directly with Augus.

He didn't know how he felt about those days.

The Nightmare King's daily presence was a torture that he still didn't know how to bear. But then it was gone and without it...

He had been left alone to a darkness that he didn't know how to endure. He'd felt _bereft_. How can the Nightmare King gone be just as horrible as the Nightmare King present?

 

He can't stand this line of thought anymore.

* * *

He doesn't even realise that he's fallen asleep, truly asleep, until he is caught in the grips of the nightmare. The shadows press into him, crawling under his skin, into his soul, and scouring him from the inside out. They rifle through his mind as they please, shuffling and discarding pieces of him into darkness where he can never recover them. And all the while, the Nightmare King throws his head back and laughs, taunting him for his weakness, _why surely if he didn't want it, the shadows would not slide in so easily_....

He doesn't how he manages to awaken, his breath rasping and his chest heaving. He claws at his body, trying to get the shadows out. But no, they are not in him. They are...

The strange phosphorescence of the dungeon flickers. And the shadows around him darken.

His panic spikes again. His heart pounds against his ribs.

They are _coming_.

They are coming _for him_.

With a cry, he launches himself at the invisible barrier, desperately clawing at it, trying to break through. He must _escape, he must, he_ _ **must**_ _, they are coming, they will take him again...!_

He opens his mouth and screams, for once not caring who might hear, so long as someone does and lets him out, _he must get out!_

But no one does.

Only when his claws are torn and ragged, his fingertips bleeding, and his throat so dry that he can no longer make a sound, does he finally slide to the floor, his whole body shaking like it will never stop. He clutches at his torso with what little strength he has left.

_Who is he? What is his name?_

The questions rip and tear at him, shredding him, until a passing thought drifts by and he clutches it with all his might.

_Augus._

He is Augus. Augus Each Uisge. He is a waterhorse. He is in the Seelie dungeon. Those phrases become his mantra, repeating endlessly in his mind, as he struggles to calm down and pull himself together.

Eventually, one other realisation surfaces, and he clutches at that, too. _The Nightmare King is not here._

_He is Augus Each Uisge, he is a waterhorse, he is in the Seelie dungeon, and the Nightmare King is not here. He is Augus Each Uisge, he is a waterhorse, he is in the Seelie dungeon, and the Nightmare King is not here._

His shadows are not here.

They never _were_ here. It was all in his head, a residual effect of the nightmare.

Augus finally collapses onto his side, still curled into a ball, his face streaked with tears that he doesn't remember shedding.

* * *

It is a long time before he comes back to himself again.

But when he does, there is a certain realisation that he cannot ignore.

Despite the intensity of his nightmare, no living shadows came in the midst of his panic. And that is something that he has never been truly free of, not since the Nightmare King first took him, all that time ago. Always, at least one shadow has haunted him since then. And then he took all the shadows from the Nightmare King, and though he controlled them, they pervaded his Court, were carried by the Court members. During the Nightmare King's second return, the creature took great pleasure in allowing them to roam the Court as the pleased. And after the Nightmare King was defeated by Gwyn and the frost spirit, many of the shadows had returned to their favorite haunts, always _watching_ him. He knew that a good deal had been secreted away in the Nightmare King's previous homes as traps, and he would have done _anything_ to get the rest away from himself. But still, some always remained.

He has never been free of them.

Until now.

That means...that _might_ mean...that they are gone. Augus can guess that he has been imprisoned now for at least a month, if not more. If the Nightmare King had succumbed to those traps, then he _surely_ would have returned by now. There is no power in any Court that could prevent him from entering if he wished. And Augus knows from bitter experience how much he had enjoyed making Augus a plaything. Surely he could not resist such a target now, if he had indeed returned.

He doesn't know what force could have defeated the shadows – but then, he wouldn't have thought there could be a force that could defeat the Nightmare King either. But the very lack of his presence suggests that such a force must exist.

Augus doesn't know if this is actually true or not. But it is the only lie that he can manage to tell himself that brings him some relief, that might let him _heal_.

* * *

He begins to let memories drift over him. At first they are random, in no particular order. His first experience as a professional dominant. Learning pressure points from Fluri. Helming the Wild Hunt. His first journey to harvest the moss of crackenylls. The Raven Prince's rare half-smile. All moments that are still _his_ , that meant something once.

Later, he calls the memories more specifically. He thinks of his earliest memory, of emerging from the lake on spindly waterhorse legs, breathing in the air for the first time. He thinks of the methods that he used to use to process herbs and create salves. He thinks of the gifts and payments he used to receive from his clients.

He sorts and sifts through his memories, putting each one in its place in his mind. He feels as though he is reconstructing himself, from the ground up. It allows him to see a clear path from who he was before to who he is now...and perhaps, to who he may one day be again.

As the months pass, he lets his mind drift from one end of his life to the other, with few exceptions.

The times with the Nightmare King are one. Those memories he shoves away as best as possible, submerging them under other, stronger memories.

His thoughts also skate away from Ash. Whenever he thinks of his brother, all he can remember is the final expression on his face, when he had sent the living shadows directly to Augus.

He remembers other things instead. He thinks of the lake that he grew up in. The dark waters that always welcomed and comforted him. The plants that grow on the lake floor and on its surrounding banks. He mentally catalogues the different types that he had grown.

There are some that he doesn't remember, and he doesn't know if time has made the memories fuzzy, or....if he was made to forget. The Nightmare King made him forget many things.

But again, he doesn't think about that part.

He tries to remember what happened to his lake. He is certain that it is all gone, now. He'd had a lake as Unseelie King, but it was far from the same. It was never _home_. It was just a convenient location to digest his food.

Deep down, so deep that he doesn't really know how to acknowledge it, he wishes that he could go back _home_. He wishes that he could go back to a time when he was fully content, when he didn't know the true extent of the evil that could exist in the world.

But as he cannot have that, he will make do with the next best thing: the stability of mastering himself once more.

* * *

He is sitting on the tree bench, drifting through the memories, when he hears the footsteps. Measured and firm. Coming down the corridor. Smells a sharp, metallic tang on the air that almost sizzles in his nostrils. He remembers that scent.

Gwyn ap Nudd, King of the Seelie fae. Coming to check on his prisoner, after all these months. And probably to torture or interrogate or something equally trivial.

Augus' schools his expression into nonchalance. He knows who he is. He knows what has transpired over his life. He knows what demons are and _are not_ in the world. He has been through the worst of everything and _survived._ After all of that?

This will be  _nothing_.


End file.
